


in a week

by catybug007



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Read, Book Timeline, Dol Blathanna, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Post-Lady of the Lake, Valley of Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catybug007/pseuds/catybug007
Summary: Dandelion figures out what pleases him, one minute too late.Geralt takes a little longer.***'Dandelion feels his body giving up the fight.  Slowly, at first, but as Filavandrel’s song continues, he feels roots taking place below and through his back.  But it doesn’t hurt.Not anymore.'
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 91





	in a week

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the lovely Isa, [LiberaMeDelailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah)
> 
> Please heed the content warning and read the tags. Enjoy! I'll see you at the end.

Dandelion lowered the body of his very best friend in the boat. He watched as Ciri rowed herself and her parents off into the mist.

He felt bile rise in his throat. And gazed in horror at the petals that came out. Drenched in blood, completely red rose petals covered the ground before him.

He closed his eyes, fell to his knees, truly defeated.  _ Please, not yet. _ He looked up, just barely catching the last glimpse of the boat before it disappeared in a blink. _ My love. _

***

The journey back to the Valley, where it started so many years ago was unremarkable but for the piles of rose petals just off the side of every road he traveled. They started red. Then pink. By the third day, they came up snowy white.

***

By the fifth day, he’d pulled the first stem from his throat. As he gently caressed the full, white rose, he wondered if the golden bud at its center was for him or for the eyes of his Witcher.

***

He spent his last week in Dol Blathanna, surrounded once more by beautiful things. Beautiful people. People like him.

Every day he walked the length of the Valley, playing his lute. Taking comfort in the tragedies of home. They were greatly diminished once again. He’d hoped maybe Filvandrel would be able to talk the Lady down from her crusade. Her deployment of the Scoia’tael. As it was, he was surrounded by almost a completely new garden. Those who had not known their love returned. For whom it was too late when their love died.

Dandelion had hoped they’d learned after the raids, so long ago. Because they didn’t just lose on the frontlines. They lost at home. He took solace, knowing the peace he’d helped broker would see them safely through the next hundred years or so.

He stopped playing, gazing fondly on the angry, red snapdragons blooming even now in the middle of winter, among striped tiger lilies and bright yellow daffodils. He hoped Toruviel found her one in the Beyond. His fingers danced out a familiar tune and he continued on his way.

At least the Valley prospered from their suffering. 

Dol Blathanna would maintain its beauty.

_ With one more addition. _

***

“Would you-” more petals strewn from his mouth as he retched again, and again. He shuddered and choked as he pulled another stem out of his throat. A white rose, centered with gold, spattered in his blood. Beautiful all the same.

“Play for me, please.” He gave his lute back to its maker and laid down on the soft grass beside him. Filavandrel strummed lightly on the strings. Dandelion had kept it perfectly tuned, letting his fingers perform where his voice could not. Not anymore. Not for some time.

Filavandrel sat beside the bard, both surrounded by the beautiful remains of hopeless romance and unrequited love, there in Dol Blathanna, the Valley of Flowers.

“Rest, cousin. Enjoy your peace.” Filavandrel started plucking softly on his lute and started to sing,

‘ _ I have never known peace _

_ Like the damp grass that yields to me _

_ I have never known hunger  _

_ Like the insects that feast on me..’ _

Dandelion feels his body giving up the fight. Slowly, at first, but as Filavandrel’s song continues, he feels roots taking place below and  _ through _ his back. But it doesn’t hurt.

Not anymore.

_ No more _ …

***

_ ‘And they’d find us in a week _

_ When the buzzards get loud _

_ After the insects have made their claim _

_ After the foxes have known our taste _

_ After the raven has had his say _

_ I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you _

_ I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you _

_ I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you’ _

Before he can even finish the song, Filavandrel feels a new shade on his face. He opens his eyes to see a sprawling, tall rosebush beside him. White flowers, centered with gold. No longer spattered with blood.

***

Geralt arrives in Posada, tired and hungry. Desperately seeking Dandelion. He’s met at the border of Dol Blathanna by Filavandrel.

“He’s gone, Witcher.”

Tears gather in his eyes, “How long has he-” his throat closes. He can’t finish that sentence. 

“A few days. You’ll know where he is. I’m-” Filavandrel pauses, taking a short breath, “I am sorry, Geralt. He truly loved you.”

Geralt pushes past him, walking carefully into the Valley. Dol Blathanna, home to the most incredible collection of flora on the Continent. Flowers that shouldn’t be able to grow here, in colors unseen anywhere else, alongside yellow daisies and sweet honeysuckle bushes.

Dol Blathanna, a graveyard of unrequited love.

Dandelion’s lute, a gift from the Filavandrel himself, lays before a rosebush. White flowers, centered with gold.

Geralt falls to his knees, legs no longer able to carry the weight of the years. “Please, you had to have known. You had to have known. Please, please, please.” his muttered words meet no recompense.

Geralt wails and beats his chest. Tears chase after each other down his face.  _ After all that. Everything we went through together and apart. I know you bore my body to the Beyond. You were there. _

“You were always there. And I loved you. I loved you. I-I love you.” Hands, weak for the first time in a long time, hit the ground. Frustrated. Devastated.

He screams again.

***

Summers come. 

Autumns fade.

He winters with his family in Kaer Morhen.

Every Spring he travels to Dol Blathanna. Passes time with what few elves remain. Walks the Valley and recounts every last detail of the year past to his friend. His love. 

Every Spring he clips one bud and presses it into the last gift he received from his friend. A journal, half full of their adventures. His life’s work. He carries it with him as he continues to travel the Continent and the Beyond.

The White Wolf and his Bard.

.

.

.

.

.

Epilogue

Geralt uncovers his eyes. He will never get used to traveling by Portal.

The first thing he notices is the strumming of a lute, somewhere nearby.

“Gentle garroter…”

He takes off toward the voice. That voice. So sweet and beautiful and familiar. He knows whose it is.

“Gorgeous garroter…” he stops short at the treeline. Sitting with his back against the tree, knee drawn up to rest the lute. He was there.

“Dandelion,” he breathed.

“I never could figure that line out, you know. No amount of words could properly describe you.” Geralt circles around to kneel in front of his friend. His best friend. His love. “Took you long enough to get here, my Witcher.”

Dandelion reaches a hand up and rests it on Geralt’s cheek. He runs this thumb along a new scar set deep along his jaw. “That future world, right? You got torn up by some kind of flying missile, yes?” 

Geralt nods, mouth open, eyes drinking in the sight before him. He puts his hand atop Dandelion’s still on his lute.

“I heard everything, my love, every year. I- mmpf…” he’s cut off as Geralt crushed his mouth against his. He pulls back slightly to whisper harshly in the space between-

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-” cut off as Dandelion kisses him again. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, my darling man.” They meet again and again and again.

“I love you.”

Again.   
  


“I love you.”

Again.

Flowers bloom around them as destiny finally relaxes her grip on their lives. Free at last to do as they please. With each other, never to be parted. 

  
_ Peace _ .

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry but this is what happens when I listen to Hozier nonstop and the timeline keeps talking about the end of 'The Lady of the Lake' :') song of choice is 'In a Week' by Hozier, which really makes you wonder how in the world I name my fics huh
> 
> Again, this was beta-read by the possible love of my life, Isa! [LiberaMeDelailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah)  
> She writes a wonderful variety of fics, one that I Highly recommended is [I fall on my knees (in perpetual surrender)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186676)
> 
> Please yell at me in the comments, literally nothing would make me happier! Love you all <3


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